


Countdown

by Elfbert



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Year's Eve - and Mycroft has plans for Lestrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countdown

Lestrade stepped into the small entrance to the building – it seemed as innocent as any other office block, until you saw the metal detectors and security equipment inside the door.

He did as he was told and was scanned, photographed and issued with a small paper pass, then directed to the room he'd been told to find. His badge meant he was allowed through the corridors with no supervision, and he tried not to peer into open doors, despite his curiosity.

After a short ride upward in the lift he found the door that bore the number he had received in the text, and knocked.

It swung open to reveal Mycroft, impeccably dressed, as always, and a dimly lit office. Mycroft smiled, sweeping his arm back to indicate Lestrade should enter the room.

"What are…is this yours?" Lestrade asked, spotting a bottle in an ice bucket and two glasses on the table.

"For tonight," Mycroft answered, sliding his hands around Lestrade's waist and kissing his neck, removing Lestrade's raincoat when he stepped away.

Lestrade relaxed into the touch. It was almost half past ten on the last day of the year, and despite working all day the brisk walk he'd had from the Yard down to the river had woken him up. He'd only ever witnessed the New Years fireworks on the television – hating the idea of the crowds and madness of trying to watch them live. This, however, was different. A quiet office, a great view, well above the throngs of people below, a bottle of champagne, sitting in an ice bucket, and his lover.

"Now, sit down," Mycroft pulled out a chair. "Champagne?"

Lestrade nodded, stretching out as Mycroft poured him a glass.

"And food is on the way," Mycroft smiled.

"Food? Really?" Lestrade had thought about grabbing a burger on the way down, but thought it wouldn't really do to turn up covered in grease and smelling of fries, so he'd decided he could survive without. He had no idea that Mycroft had been planning the evening.

"Of course," Mycroft sat down too, swirling his champagne around in the glass before tasting it.

Lestrade smiled, feeling the tensions of the day melt away as the bubbles delicately burst on his tongue.

"Now," Mycroft bent down and lifted Lestrade's leg, tugging at his shoelace, "I want you to be totally at home. We won't be disturbed."

Once Lestrade's shoes and socks were off he dug his toes into the thick carpet, toying with the glass in his hand. "Didn't think that fireworks were your kind of thing," he smiled at Mycroft.

"There's a time and a place," Mycroft answered. "I can appreciate their beauty."

There was a gentle knock on the door and Mycroft answered it, murmuring a few words to whoever was outside, then wheeling a small trolley into the room.

"Now," Mycroft said, producing two small plates, and lifting the first silver dome from a serving platter. "Please, help yourself."

The meal was exquisite, with delicate smoked salmon followed by a hearty, filling steak. Lestrade could hear the sound of thousands of voices in the street below, and felt as if they were on their own private island.

Mycroft stood, offering Lestrade his hand, and led him to the window.

"All those people," he said softly. "Down there, ready to celebrate. No idea we are here, watching them." He kissed Lestrade's neck, sliding his hands around Lestrade, one pulling his shirt free from his waistband, the other cupping the front of his trousers.

Lestrade groaned, leaning in Mycroft's touch. He felt deft fingers undoing each button, until his shirt was pulled aside, exposing his chest and stomach.

"This…are you sure…" Lestrade started, the thought of this being someone else's office, and the huge window in front of them both nagging at the back of his mind. Anyone could glance up and see them in there.

"Certain," Mycroft answered, running the palms of his hands up onto Lestrade's chest.

"And you think you can buy off a member of her Majesty's constabulary, with a bit of dinner and some champagne?" he asked, smiling.

"I think so," Mycroft answered. "It is exceptional champagne," he added, moving back slightly and lifting Lestrade's jacket from his shoulders. His shirt still hung off him, and he shivered slightly as Mycroft moved away, carefully hanging his jacket up.

"Now," Mycroft said, as he returned to Lestrade, holding out his glass. "If anyone were to look up here, then they would see a stunningly handsome man, looking entirely edible in his semi-dressed state." He bunched some of Lestrade's shirt into his fist and pulled him close, kissing him. "And if they were to see me, they would think I had willpower of iron, not to rip your clothes off you right now."

Lestrade smiled into the kiss. "And they'd also think I was mad, to be standing here like this, when you're wearing all of that."

He slid his hands down the lapels of Mycroft's jacket, then reached up to push it from his shoulders, and threw it onto a nearby chair, in a heap. He allowed his fingers a moment to slide over the matching waistcoat, loving the beautiful fit of the fabric, the way it shaped Mycroft's waist, accentuated his chest. He carefully unbuttoned it, feeling the delicate touches of Mycroft's fingers ghosting over his own bare skin. He didn't bother removing the waistcoat, but carried on his assault on Mycroft's clothing, pulling at his tie, cursing Mycroft's insistence wearing a tie at all, and then on tying a Windsor, and one which wouldn't self-release, at that. Finally the strip of cloth came loose, and Lestrade threw it aside, pulling Mycroft close and kissing him as he worked on the buttons of the shirt.

"Better," he murmured into Mycroft's mouth, once the buttons were all undone.

Mycroft glanced at the clock over Lestrade's shoulder, then slid his hands down to Lestrade's belt, tugging it open, quickly followed by undoing the waistband. He was unsurprised to feel Lestrade's cock half hard already, pushing against the soft cotton of his boxers.

"You're sure…" Lestrade started again, glancing at the door.

"Locked," Mycroft replied. "Privacy guaranteed."

Lestrade dragged his gaze away, back to Mycroft. He pushed Mycroft's waistcoat and shirt off in one, leaving them entangled on the floor, and stepped forward, crowding into Mycroft's personal space, feeling the heat of his skin and the light tickle of the hair on his chest, running his hands around Mycroft, into the small of his back, pulling him close and pushing their groins together, enjoying the slightly jolt as Mycroft reacted to the touch.

"And I can assure you, I have plans to keep us occupied," Mycroft said, twisting them around and pushing Lestrade into the wall, gently grinding against him, then pushing his hands into Lestrade's trousers, gripping his buttocks, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"Really," Lestrade answered, trying to seem calmer than he felt, as he could feel his cock now straining against the cloth.

Mycroft allowed him to step away from the wall for long enough to push his trousers and boxers down over his hips, into a pool on the floor. He followed them down, landing on his knees, kissing Lestrade's belly, then the soft skin of his hip and finally wetting his lips and softly kissing the tip of his penis, flicking out the tip of his tongue to taste the bead of moisture in the slit.

Lestrade let out a low moan and slid his fingers into Mycroft's hair, feeling the soft lips nuzzling and kissing his balls, the strong hands running up and down his thighs. Mycroft kissed the tip again, then moved so Lestrade's erection pushed between his lips, over his tongue, as far as he could take it. He could feel the slight tremors running through Lestrade's muscles and smiled around his mouthful, his plan working perfectly.

"Shit, Myc…" Lestrade rested his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes closed.

He imagined Mycroft pushing him back onto the large, posh desk, the cool of the wood and the heat of Mycroft's body. Or the sumptuous red leather sofa, being pressed into the padding by the weight of Mycroft on him…he whimpered slightly at the thought.

Mycroft shifted slightly, his tongue still teasing the underside of his dick, just enough to make him beg for more, but not enough to satisfy. He nibbled and kissed and licked until Lestrade's pleas for more were breathless gasps, and he had to use his hands on Lestrade's hips to hold him still.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his lips brushing the now-slick head of Lestrade's cock. "And all mine."

And then Mycroft was standing, in one fluid movement.

"Now," he said, voice low. "I want that shirt off you."

Lestrade obeyed, pulling the shirt off himself, turning the arms inside out as the cuffs caught on his hands and watch, desperate to obey Mycroft if it meant his satisfaction would come sooner.

Mycroft took the opportunity to rid himself of his trousers, shoes and socks, not caring about the lack of hangers on which to store them.

He gave himself a quick stroke, feeling a shiver of pleasure run through his body, watching the play of muscles under Lestrade's skin.

They stepped together again, now both naked, skin sliding against skin, hands moving with well-practised ease, both knowing what the other liked.

Lestrade tried to steer Mycroft to the sofa, but Mycroft stood firm. "Oh no, I told you – I have plans," he smiled, pushing Lestrade backwards, toward the window.

Lestrade made a feeble attempt to protest, but was deftly turned around, to look out over the river and the crowds. Then Mycroft held his waist tightly, cock sliding up between his cheeks, and bent forward slightly.

"Lean forward," he commanded, and Lestrade did, having to put his hands on the glass of the window as Mycroft positioned him, to prevent himself from falling forward. The glass was cold under his palms, a hint of the outdoors, where the freezing temperatures meant everyone in sight were wrapped up warm, under layers of clothing, whilst he was here, on display, naked.

The warmth of Mycroft disappeared from his back abruptly, and he was about to try and turn when strong hands squeezed his bum, and then hot breath signalled what was about to happen. He couldn't help but jump a little as Mycroft's tongue slid over his hole, and when Mycroft let out a low moan of enjoyment Lestrade felt his cock twitch, desperate for touch. Mycroft continued to lap and kiss his sensitive skin, face pressed against him, every breath out a tantalising caress of pleasure, every thrust and lick of the strong tongue sending a jolt of satisfaction, but nothing quite on the scale of what he knew was to come. As if someone were blowing on the embers of a fire – causing them to brighten, but not yet burst into flame.

With a long, final lick Mycroft moved again, wrapped strong arms around him, at first so they couldn't be any closer, hard erection sliding smoothly between his cheeks, then the arms were gone, and Lestrade heard the snap of a lid being opened. He waited for a moment, and was rewarded with the familiar pressure, the slight burn as Mycroft held him still with a hand on his shoulder, and pressed forward, the other guiding his slick, hard cock into Lestrade's body, sliding past the muscle and into the tight, familiar, heat.

"Oh, Gregory," Mycroft slid his hands over Lestrade's back, not caring about the trail of lube he left, glistening in the dim lights. He gently pulled out a little and pushed back in all the way, keeping carefully control of his own breathing, knowing the key to his plan was not to get carried away, no matter what his body told him to do. He glanced at the clock again, then turned back to watch his erection disappear into Lestrade, a smooth movement, tantalisingly slow, deliciously controlled. He closed his eyes, concentrating, feeling the drag and clench of the tight rings of muscle as he withdrew, then the pressure and slight resistance as he slid home. His own muscles were shaking as he kept up the slow, tormenting pace, in and out, timing the movements to his breathing, not allowing himself to give in to the desire to move hard and faster.

"Myc," Lestrade pushed back, trying to take the lead, to move more, to increase the pace. Mycroft gripped his hips, fingers digging in, holding him still. He used his legs to push Lestrade's slightly further apart, pushing him more off-balance, and he noted the slight tremor in Lestrade's biceps as more weight was forced through his arms. He rewarded Lestrade with a harder thrust, a slight snap of his hips at the end, just angling upward slightly.

The effect was exactly as he desired.

"G…Myc," Lestrade's head tipped back, all his muscles quivering with need. Mycroft stilled, but reached around Lestrade, closing his fist around his lover's erection, moving slowly, taking in the thickness, the hardness, and allowing his fingers to trail a little lower, to judge the tightness of the testicles. He could read Lestrade easily, now, knew just which buttons to press, and when. "Please, Myc, so close…please," he begged.

Mycroft smiled, let go of his erection and returned to his slow, torturous pace. Every time Lestrade seemed to almost get his breathing back to normal he changed the angle again, to drag the head of his cock over the very slight bump of Lestrade's prostate, and each time he was rewarded with a gasp, and a longer list of threats, pleas and profanities as Lestrade fought to do something – anything – to bring him to a climax, and was prevented each time by Mycroft reading his movements and stilling them or moving with him, to deny him.

Lestrade's head had dropped forward, and he was covered in a slight sheen of sweat as his muscles fought to keep him upright, and were tensed ready for the climax, if only Mycroft were to permit it.

The noise of the crowd below was increasing, random cheers bursting out, and snatches of songs. Mycroft bent forward, kissing Lestrade's back, allowing the action to draw him almost all the way out, before sliding in again, pumping a few times, then withdrawing completely, for just a second, and pushing himself straight back in, the feel of easily breaching the muscle and plunging into the heat amazing.

"God, Myc," Lestrade panted, so Mycroft repeated the action. The kiss of colder air on his cock a moment before the slide home into the warm, slick tightness was a welcome counterpoint. It excited him, the thought of his lover's body open to him, empty without him, begging for his return. He changed the angle slightly, knowing that the clock was ticking, and on the next slide in Lestrade's fingers tried to clench against the smooth, cold glass, bending, slipping, leaving the tell tale mist of heat, with the desperate prints and lines drawn into it.

"Jesus, faster, please," Lestrade begged.

"So beautiful," Mycroft murmured, ignoring the plea. "Like this, in front of all those people. Spread out just for me. Open you eyes, look down there, look at them all. And here you are, where anyone could see you, and I'm the only one who can have you."

 

Lestrade desperately wanted to move his hand from the window and wrap it around his own cock, bring himself some relief, but Mycroft had positioned him so all his weight was braced on his arms, unable to move without falling forward, collapsing against the cold pane with his chest or head. He cursed under his breath. He felt Mycroft's warm hands running over his body, holding his hips as smooth thrusts sent waves of pleasure through him, making his own cock twitch with pleasure, precum dripping from him now, wishing Mycroft's hand would find its way back to his dick. He squeezed his eyes closed, fighting Mycroft's grip, trying to move, to force himself back onto Mycroft's cock, to fuck himself to completion.

"Naughty," Mycroft said softly, stilling his movements and reaching a hand around, first pinching Lestrade's nipple, just a shade too hard to be entirely pleasurable, then gripping his cock again, but holding Lestrade tightly, trapping him between his fist and groin, unable to move and satisfy himself, as Mycroft held him, denying him the pleasure of completion. "Trust me," Mycroft said, leaving a train of sucking kisses down Lestrade's spine.

Mycroft glanced over his shoulder again, smiling as the second hand slid around the clock face. Lestrade was shaking, muscles twitching, a steady stream of profanities spilling from his lips. Mycroft reached up and pushed his fingers into Lestrade's hair, scrunching them up, holding onto the short strands, tipping Lestrade's head back. Then he removed his other hand from Lestrade's erection and moved it sideways; digging his fingers into the soft, smooth flesh of Lestrade's hip.

"Ten!" the crowd below shouted.

Mycroft pulled out and thrust home.

"Nine!" thousands of voices floated up to them as one.

Mycroft thrust again, hard, deep.

"Eight!"

He repeating the action as the countdown continued, until at 'Two!' he shifted, his left hand gripping Lestrade's shoulder, to pull him back to meet the thrusts no longer timed to anything but an animal need, fast and hard. His right hand found Lestrade's cock, sliding through the precum, gripping hard and pumping in time with his movements.

"Fuckin'…God, Myc…" Lestrade panted, his head falling forward, fingers scrabbling on the glass.

"Open your eyes," Mycroft panted, hanging on to every shred of self-control he had left.

Big Ben was struck, the fireworks along the river exploding and Mycroft pushed in once more, sliding his thumb over the tip of Lestrade's straining cock, and he felt Lestrade's dick pulsing, the heat and liquid coating his fist.

He came too, harder than ever before, bathed in the light of the explosions.  
He pushed in, tilting his hips, getting impossibly further inside Lestrade.

Lestrade finally collapsed forward, resting his arms and head on the cool glass, his panting breath showing as great blooms of mist, blurring the lights and colours outside.

"Christ," he panted.

Mycroft pulled out, then wrapped his arms around Lestrade's chest, urging him upright, supporting him, and moving them both to collapse onto the sofa, still with a perfect view of the fireworks exploding, filling the sky as the crowds below cheered and sung.

"Happy New Year," Mycroft pressed a kiss against Lestrade's temple, tightening his arms around Lestrade, enjoying the cool leather underneath him and the hot body on top.

"And many more to come," Lestrade murmured, intertwining his fingers with Mycroft's, eyes widening as the explosions outside increased in magnitude.


End file.
